


Greg Sanders, Y2K, and Signs of the Apocalypse

by Cinaed



Category: CSI: Las Vegas
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M, Morning After
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-08
Updated: 2006-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-08 03:41:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>David Hodges has never believed in the end of the world, but he's beginning to see the signs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Greg Sanders, Y2K, and Signs of the Apocalypse

David Hodges has never believed a lot of things. Organized religion, for example. Or that his vote actually counted in presidential elections.

He also has never believed in doomsayers who say that the end of the world is coming. He thinks that Nostradamus was a crazy Frenchman who really needed to take medication to shut up the voices in his head and that whoever wrote Revelations was having far too much fun scaring the hell out of future Christians. In 1999, he mercilessly mocked anyone who was terrified of the Y2K issue, and was almost disappointed when billions of computers didn’t crash (it would have at least been a change of pace from his normal humdrum life). 

Still, he’s beginning to think that maybe Nostradamus and the authors of Revelations were onto something, because while David has never believed in the end of the world, he’s beginning to see the signs. 

After all, surely waking up next to Greg Sanders is a sign of the Apocalypse. There has to be _something_ in Revelations about a sarcastic trace tech waking up next to one of the most aggravating men he’s ever met and realizing they’ve _slept_ together. In the biblical sense, which is somewhat ironic if you think about it. 

The fact that Greg wakes up a few minutes later and offers him a sleepy, casual grin, as though this is an ordinary morning and nothing unusual has occurred, doesn’t reassure David. In fact, it makes him more wary, because they’ve just slept together and Greg should be upset or embarrassed or regretful, anything other than unconcerned and_cheerful_. 

Greg is so cheerful that he’s humming as he clambers out of bed to tug on a pair of boxer shorts and grinning as he says, "Don’t get up. As long as you have something instant in your cupboards and running water, I can cook breakfast." 

David just stares at Greg as the other man leaves the bedroom, trying to remember what little of the Book of Revelations he actually read for that required theology class in college. Something about angels playing trumpets and all the unbelievers being thrown into a fiery pit, but otherwise David is a bit foggy on the details. 

Still, Greg Sanders cooking him breakfast has to be another sign that the end of the world is at hand. And _there_ is the bitter water as Greg turns on the tap, and a few minutes later there is the fire of heaven as Greg curses and David hears his smoke detector go off. 

He sighs and drags himself out of bed, tugging on a pair of boxers himself and a T-shirt and heading to the kitchen, where the smoke detector is still complaining and Greg is still cursing. 

David yanks the batteries out of the smoke detector and then turns on the fan that will dispel the smoke before he turns and raises an eyebrow at Greg, who’s scowling and looking vaguely embarrassed. The kitchen still reeks of smoke, but at least the high-pitched beeping is gone. 

"Okay, so I can’t exactly cook breakfast," Greg mutters, a slight flush on his cheeks. "I suppose you don’t believe in the whole ‘it’s the thought that counts’ idea?" 

"No," David says honestly, because David really doesn’t believe in a lot of things, and that does happen to fit the category. He cannot help but smirk as the other man makes a face. "Here, I’ll cook. You just…sit and don’t touch anything. Maybe my house won’t be burned to ashes that way." 

"It was just a little _smoke_," Greg protests, voice rising with indignation, and David just smirks as he turns and begins gathering ingredients for an actual breakfast. 

And really, this easy banter after sex has to be a sign of the Apocalypse as well, because in the grand scheme of things, David Hodges and Greg Sanders having sex that wasn’t awkward or regretful is an omen that the world has gone mad and that reality is beginning to dissolve. 

Still, as far as signs of the Apocalypse go, this wasn’t too terrible of an omen to experience. It was a hell of a lot better (and more enjoyable) than the angels playing trumpets and fire raining down from the sky and the whole Antichrist deal. And then there was the fact that he could easily accept that the world was going to end (that would definitely be a change of pace, after all). Besides, if Revelations was right, he had seven more years to go. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about ending up as a senile old man. 

"So," Greg says quietly, and David turns from the stove to raise an eyebrow and wait. The flush has remained on the other man’s face, but Greg is looking almost defiant, as though he’s prepared himself for a fight. "If you’re going to be all, ‘This was a mistake,’ I thought I’d point out right now that we weren’t tipsy or so exhausted that our brains shut down, so--"

David rolls his eyes and turns back to the stove, trying to ignore the sharp exhale of the breath he hasn’t realized he’s been holding. "I’m aware that we were both consenting adults, not to mention we were both lucid at the time, Sanders," he remarks dryly. "I was there." 

When Greg doesn’t immediately say something witty (well, or at least something _supposed_ to be witty), David turns back to him. Greg is wearing an almost relieved look, as though he’d assumed that David would say it was a terrible error in judgement and kick him out of the apartment. "I just thought…." The CSI’s voice trails off, and he’s still not looking embarrassed or regretful, just at a loss for words. 

"Just thought I’d throw you out on your ass? Not until after breakfast," David drawls, and adds, more hastily than he meant to when he sees something fall in Greg’s expression, "That was a _joke_, Greg." 

He is taken aback when Greg’s entire face lights up, and even more startled when Greg bounds from his chair and pulls him away from the stove for a morning-breath kiss. The other man’s mouth is warm and wet against his, and David cannot, will not break the kiss, even if Greg really needs to brush his teeth -- and not just because if he takes a step back he’ll burn himself on the red-hot stove, either. 

It’s only once Greg breaks the kiss and grins impishly at him that David rolls his eyes and says, "You’re not kissing me again until you’ve brushed your teeth, Mr. Morning Breath." 

He’s not surprised when Greg makes a face at him and says, "Your breath isn’t so wonderful either, you know," and this time he’s definitely not startled when Greg leans forward and presses a kiss to his cheek before bounding off in the direction of the bathroom. 

David just watches him go for a moment before he shakes his head and returns his attention to the stove. It’s true that he has never believed a lot of things, like organized religion or voting, but even a man like David Hodges believes in _something_, and right now, with Greg humming cheerfully in the bathroom and probably using _his_ toothbrush, David believes this feeling in his stomach that says this isn’t a sign of the Apocalypse, but instead a sign of something a bit like salvation, only without a religion or dogma behind it. 

And David thinks he’ll quite enjoy salvation, especially one that involves a certain aggravating CSI who can’t even boil water properly. 

"You better not be using my toothbrush, Greg," he calls, and feels an amused smile steal upon his lips at the long stretch of guilty silence.   



End file.
